Creepypasta Stories

The Treehouse

When I was young, my brother, Dave, often played in the treehouse outside of our small, rickety, gray house in Little Falls, Minnesota. Little Falls was a gorgeous town rich with agriculture and was heavily populated. The people in the town were nice, but sadly our neighborhood was barren of life. Our family was one of the only ones on the block, which made the neighborhood often seem lonely and depressing. But, Dave and I managed to get by in the unstable, light brown treehouse, at least in our childhood.

The treehouse was on a beautiful old oak tree supported between three massive, brown branches, thick and lightly tinted with age . The only way to access the treehouse was by climbing a long, worn down, beige rope, shredded at its ends.

Everyday, Dave and I would go into the treehouse and let our minds wander in our imagination and creativity. We would "compete" in games that we created and would sometimes over-socialize in the treehouse, staying in the our rough wooden world hours at a time.

I remember this one time where Dave and I were talking in the treehouse. Looking back at that moment, I wish I could change it. I wish it never happened. Because now I dread the times where it replays in my mind, every second of that cursed event.

"Peter?" Dave uttered questioningly, looking at me with sorrow.
"Yes Dave," my small squeaky voice softly said, barely catching Dave's attention.
"Can you wait to become an adult?" he asked creeping in closer, creaking the floor of the treehouse.
"Honestly, although I enjoy my childhood, I can't wait to take on new challenges and get a little older. Why?"
Dave looked outside the window of the treehouse in blank despair.
"What's wrong, Da.." he stormed out of treehouse so quickly that I could hear the friction between his hands and the rope. I looked off at my crying brother, scuffling towards our house.

His sadness didn't go away in High School, even with the loss of his innocence he became more childish. Dave was more arrogant, fearless, aggressive, and would get upset by inconsequential things. Unable to cope with the loss of our childhood, Dave would often go to the treehouse in a fit of rage, letting his mind wander as it did during our boyhood in the treehouse. I tried to my best to socialize with him, but soon gave up the relationship between me and my brother and even tried to avoid talking with him due to his attitude.

But in the middle of freshmen year, our family learned about some depressing news. Dave had gotten into drugs and was found outside the school making a deal with shady characters from a nearby school. When he got home, mom and dad had a rather serious talk with him. Then, as usual, Dave had another random aggressive outburst. He cursed out our parents and stormed outside in a fit of rage and frustration.

I thought I might as well leave him alone, as I usually did in these situations. I knew he would probably get over it. So I went up to my room and thought nothing of it. The hours rolled past when I finally heard Dave walking down the hallway to his room right across from mine. I looked directly at my computer screen, trying to avoid eye contact with my brother for fear I might make him even more infuriated. He aggressively slammed his door and locked it, not wanting to socialize with anyone, as he usually does. I immediately went to bed, glad that I didn't worsen the situation.

When I woke up in the morning, I knocked on Dave's door. "Come out Dave, it's time for school." No answer. I wriggled the knob, but it was still locked. I let Dave sleep in, as he usually does. I didn't want to deal with his temper and his most likely foul mood.

I went through our sliding, clear glass door outside to the stone walkway, slowly pacing my way to the street. The darkness at 6 o'clock in the morning didn't help me navigate my way to the street, and the silhouettes of the tall oak trees against the dark navy blue sky made the scene all the more creepier. The sun wasn't even visible when my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. I was now able to clearly see the road. But that wasn't what I was focusing on. In the horror that consumed me, I fell to my knees unable to accept what I saw.

"God damn it" I cried, tears streaming down my face, at a loss of what to do.

There was the treehouse, resting between the three thick oak branches, rope-less.